


Port of No Return

by Savorysavery



Category: Tokyo Mew Mew
Genre: Character Death, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Queer Themes, Slow Burn, Tokyo Mew Mew - Freeform, Violence, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savorysavery/pseuds/Savorysavery
Summary: Twelve years after Tokyo Mew Mew was needed to save the world, Momomiya Ichigo wakes up in a cold sweat only to find that the world needs their Mews again, and that a new foe threatens the peace of Tokyo from inside, not out.





	Port of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This piece has been a long time coming, but I'm really glad that I finally can write it. It will release monthly on the 22nd due to the way you can read twenty-two in Japanese. In Japanese, you can read "22" as ni-ni, which is also a play on the sound that cats make: nyan-nyan. Since our lead is infused with a wildcat, it felt like a fitting update day. Pardon the delay this time around: my computer had some hiccups, but now, it's smooth sailing.
> 
> All chapters will have their own triggers, so please, read without hesitation as you fall back into the world of Tokyo Mew Mew with me.
> 
> Also, I wrangle and form the tags better in the near future. I need to figure out exactly what I want to frame this story as.

 

 **Chapter Triggers:**  None

 

 **Author's Note:** This is the only chapter that will be told in this particular style. If the entire story unwound itself like this, it wouldn't be at all good, so no worries: dip your toes in and enjoy the setup, readers!

* * *

 

 

_Well, isn’t this lovely?_

 

It’s night, and the moon reigns high above Akihabara, sitting lofty in the sky as a woman named Ginshu in a swishing red cloak makes her way to the second sub-basement of a fine, little sanctuary: a basement that she rents, though now, it is a sacred space.

 

She opens a heavy metal door with chipped black paint to a wide open space with knocked out walls and a bathroom tucked at the very back that always smells of roses. Out in the open room spells the same: rose water sits in silver bowls from the 100-yen shop, though with the black and crimson curtains hanging all around the room, they look sophisticated.

 

Ginshu walks towards a massive table set comfortably far from the bathroom: a large, round table with fat, dripping candles in the middle and a faux velvet tablecloth that washes easily. All around them are those same candles: there's enough to make the shadows of seven other women in the room dance fiercely, casting darkness upon the curtained walls.

 

Together they are eight: _ha_ , eight in their native language. It's kanji is just enough auspicious with wide open bottom to welcome prosperity and growth: a bit of luck that the members of The Red Sister Saints shall open their arms to, as Ginshu certainly knows.

 

It is with open arms that they can save their city, and perhaps, the entire country should things grow too fast, too uncontrolled. It is with open arms that they shall sing revolution and true gospel: and all of it needs to start tonight with eight.

 

Slowly, Ginshu walks, letting her cloak sweep, pale brown eyes looking to each figure. She sits at the chair who's back is to the door, and the others take their time too until the old table is filled with bowed heads. Their hands -all their hands- jut out from the bell-shaped sleeves and tug their hoods down simultaneously, revealing otherwise innocuous faces.

 

None would look out of place at an office. Then again, that was the point of their deception.

 

"Welcome, my Sisters," Ginshu intones dramatically, lifting her tanned hands high. She lets her head loll back, and she exhales sharply, drinking in the atmosphere. There's something so beautiful here: _this_ is where she should always be.

 

Ginshu rolls her shoulders and tilts her head back, settling her chin in cupped hands. The others greet each other with soft, lilting voices before settling on Ginshu, seven sets of brown eyes centering her as their world.

 

“You know why we have gathered here, yes?” Ginshu asks. She's going to play capricious tonight: she's in such a good mood, and she feels like baring her fangs.

 

“Yes,” seven voices reply, each betraying a different feeling. Ginshu can sense a bit of unease as the first of them speaks up in return.

 

“There is… news?” blood hungry Sister Ake whispers, glee barely held back. "Have you _news_?"

 

“I’ve heard tell that we’ve finally found _Them_ ,” eager Sister Shu states. She waves her hands in the air, giggling with a high voice. "They're still in _Tokyo_ even."

 

“Is that so?” cautious Sister Azuki mummers. "How can you be sure? Have you scouted?"

 

“Hold.” They all pause their musings, and turn to look at the one called Suoko, seven sets of pale, contact orange eyes locking onto Ginshu. “Report, Sister Cleric.,” Ginshu orders, and she barely holds back adding a snap: she’s just as hungry for information as they all are.

 

Thankfully, Suoko is quick to perk up, nodding as she begins. “Greetings once more, my Sisters. I bring the best news I can.” She clears her throat: Suoko is almost always nervous, though none pick at her for it. “My friends tell me that All Seven reside in Tokyo currently. I’ve even managed to seek humans who are… easily convinced to take pictures.” She twists in her seat and reaches for a plain, black backpack. Fishing around brings out a clear file with a strawberry print that would be _charming_ if this were any other story.

 

Suoko bobs her head before pushing the file across the table. It passes through two other hands before Ginshu takes it. "Please, Head Sister," Suoko offers. "See that I speak truth."

 

Ginshu nods, and sets to removing the prints, holding each up for all to see.

 

The first: a girl with bright blonde hair that seems genuinely natural, unless she does her roots and does them very well. It’s bound in two braids, which is fitting for the workplace she’s at: an elementary school in the city.

 

She wears an apron with bunny and cat appliques hand stitched on in a careful, stylish way. She’s been caught waving goodbye, bright eyes flashing mirth that shines through the image.

 

_“Shirayuki Berry.”_

 

The second: a girl with honey-brown hair that’s bound into a short, stubby ponytail and glasses with weak lenses. Her arms are laden with books, but she’s smiling. You can almost hear her laughter as she walks with two nameless friends from her university.

 

Her backpack bears a penguin print, as does the pass case peeking from her pocket.

 

_“Akai Ringo.”_

 

The third: a tall model with purple-black hair and piercing eyes that make you pause. The picture is from afar –perhaps at a meet n’ greet– but it’s unmistakable who Shibuya’s icon is.

 

Ever since she's made Tokyo her permanent residence, the whole city has known who she was. They just never knew her second life.

 

_“Fujiwara Zakuro.”_

 

The fourth: a short woman dusted in flour with a flock of family around her. The trays of bread -towers, perilously so- are somehow all perfectly balanced. Even if they weren't, it's clear that she wouldn't cave to pressure. In fact, in the second photograph of her, the bread has been shifted to one hand, and she caught ruffling the hair of a young cousin.

 

Her blonde hair has a few new colors added to it since she was a heroine: seven, in fact, to match her friend's motifs. They're fitting and on anyone else, would be positively garish.

 

_“Huang Bu-Ling.”_

 

The fifth: a tall, soft-bodied woman with full cheeks and arms and thighs. She’s kneeling in front of a bookshelf, bangs obscuring her eyes as she rings up a stack of books with sun-eaten edges for an older woman with a sickle-shaped back,.

 

She wears contacts now, instead of her wide, circle frames: at work, though, not at home. At home, she lets herself relax and be quiet, slide back into a bit of the her she tucks at home.  

  


_“Midorikawa Lettuce.”_

 

The sixth: a slightly fuzzy shot in a dark theatre in Asakusa. There’s dozens of people on a wide stage, but one stands out: a woman with grey-blue hair done in a single braided bun, arms extending high above her head, standing on pointe. Her eyes just happened to be looking out over the crowd before she moved into the next step.

 

She's as graceful as a heron, and has grown taller, and with it, incredibly elegant. Yet there's strength as she prepares to leap, and it's caught in a second image.

 

_“Aizawa Mint.”_

 

And finally, the seventh image: a girl –no, a _woman_ – with pink hair that’s got summer streaks of strawberry blonde, fitting for the vacation she just returned from. Her left middle finger bears the imprint of a ring, and as she waits at the crosswalk from the station nearest to her home, her fingers press against it, making her red eyes shine with relief and sadness.

 

The five pictures of her tell a story: a woman who is now single, who is searching, who is lonely and incredibly soft now. A woman who spends her nights at open air markets to buy ingredients. A woman who is trying to move on after being everyone's _hero_.

 

“I think you now who _she_ is,” Ginshu hisses and she can't help it: anger bubbles up in her like a boiling pot.

 

And agreement rings around the room: there’s no need to announce the name of Tokyo’s former darling, a girl who still manages to pop-up on 3chan at least once a month, a girl who was caught in grainy snapshots leaping through the skies at all of fourteen: a woman who feeds every rumor of heroes in this massive, sprawling city.

 

But Suoko says her name as she has said the others, clenching her teeth as she spits it out.

 

 _“Momomiya_ **_Ichigo_** _.”_

 

There’s a moment of silence before clever, crafty Sister Sohi whispers: “I can’t believe they’re all here. I guess heroes can never leave their stomping ground.” She snorts in mild disbelief.

 

“At least _stupid_ ones don’t,” Ake adds in with a scoff. “I’d have left Tokyo for the countryside in a heartbeat, especially if I were _any_ of them.”

 

Ginshu finds that she is grinning, beaming at Suoko with genuine happiness. She hadn't been sure _what_ new would come her way, but the old adage is true: any news is good news, and good news is the best.

Now, they know that their enemy is within grasp: from Akihabara, they are incredibly close, perhaps in the heart of the city. A single train ride could bring their paths crossing.

 

In a city of 13 million, it'd taken _years_ to ensure that Team Mew was actually here: that they hadn't abandoned the city to try and scratch out lives as normal girls who could grow into normal women.

 

Now, however, everyone of them knows that Tokyo Mew Mew are truly still Tokyoites, and now, they're here for the taking.

 

"Well _done_ ," Ginshu proclaims. "I've always known we can count on you, Suoko. Truly, this is our destiny." Suoko's cheeks color in the darkness, and she draws her hood up, thoroughly flush with pleasure at having done good work for their cause.

 

Yet Shishi seeks to sour it. Her words cut across the table: " _Just_ pictures, Cleric Suoko? Do you have any intel to if their powers have returned? Have they manifested their secondary forms?" Shishi grags her fingers through the soft, wavy black cois of her hair in irritation. "How do we know we're not waltzing into a _trap_?"

 

"Shut up, Shishi: don't spoil this for us." Ginshu levels her narrow eyes at Shishi who has the intelligence to shut her mouth. She wants to speak further, but there's no need to rankle everyone. Instead, Shishi knits her brow together, cheeks flushing red in her embarrassment.

 

"All seven," Ginshu muses. "Truly, our time is now. Let Phase Delta commencer, sisters! We strike this week!" Ginshu flashes a bright smile, revealing four sharp canines that click together as she laughs, a sound like the ocean crashing against stone.

 

"An this - _this_ \- is _only_ the beginning. We will circle our prey and draw them out: make them think that they can play _hero_ again." Ginshu looks to Ake and Sango, two sisters who have remained quiet thus far. "They may have _one_ wolf, but we have _eight_. They cannot stand against a pack with one!"

 

And they're all chomping at the bit to one-up these former _heroes_.

 

"Hungry as we _all_ are, we are not Beasts. We've been blessed with minds to think, despite the gift of our spirit. And _think_ we shall," Ginshu finishes, voice dropping to a hungry timbre. It spreads, and the room is suddenly filled with an oppressive pressure: bloodlust and a desire to tear flesh.

 

“Don’t worry, _Sister Shishi_ : this is only the beginning. We’ve still got to circle our prey, tire them out. Hungry as we _all_ are–” Ake and Sango, who’s kept silent thus far, both snarl and lick their thin lips at that “–we are not _actual_ Beasts. We’ve been blessed with minds that can _think_ . _Think_ we shall.”

 

The room’s mood shifts and suddenly, and overwhelming hunger, and thinking quickly flees the room with eight snapping maws nipping at its heels.

 

Thought it gone: all that remains is a desire for devastation.

 

"Now Sisters," Ginshu whispers. "Let's go stake **_our_** claim."

 

And without hesitation, eight heads tip back in unison, a rolling, piercing howl rumbling far under the streets of Akihabara as life goes on, unknowing.

 

Yet all should be wary though: Team Mew are not the only animals in Tokyo tonight.

 

* * *

 

Across the city in Minato's Azabu-Juban neighborhood, Momomiya Ichigo turned over in bed, jolting awake with cold sweat tacking her clothes to her skin on a cool, autumn night. She wakes with tears rolling down her cheeks, and the haunting feeling that when the sun rises, nothing in her life will ever be the same: she wakes and wishes dearly for her friends.

 

Tokyo, Japan, and perhaps, the World, were calling on her again after these long, peaceful years. She can feel it in her bones, right alongside an echo of a howl somewhere in the city that drifts to her ears like a dirge.

 

This wasn't a call Ichigo could ignore: peacetimes were over.

 

It was time to wake up, and time to be a Mew.

**Author's Note:**

> Next Update: November 22, 2018 with Chapter 1: Again
> 
> Thank you for your readership.


End file.
